Oh Jesus, Sweet Jesus

I cannot undress my heart in light.
Darkness, shelter darkness, find
a cave to hide this heart of mine.

I cannot speak in honesty nor write.
Rain, shelter rain, find
a storm to drown this voice of mine.

I cannot cure my spirit’s endless plight.
Death, shelter death, find
a space to match this void of mine.

I cannot survive in life tonight.
Oh Jesus, sweet Jesus, find
a way to save me one more time.

I can praise God under the sun,
under the hell this earth’s become,
and I can hope beyond the grave,
that I will live where restoration reigns,
and while I’m weak, I still will boast,
of the Lord I serve from my post.
With the strength provided from His well,
that overflows my earthly shell,
I will live, and breathe, and think and love,
Forever for my King above!

Excerpts from Thomas Kempis "Imitatio Christi"

"Whoever desires to understand and take delight in the words of Christ must strive to conform his whole life to him."

"And this is supreme wisdom—to despise the world, and draw daily nearer the kingdom of heaven."

"It is vanity to love things that so swiftly pass away, and not to hasten onwards to that place where everlasting joy abides."

"Keep constantly in mind the saying, “The eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing.” Strive to withdraw your heart from the love of visible things, and direct your affections to things invisible. For those who follow only their natural inclinations defile their conscience, and lose the grace of God."

"Do not read to satisfy curiosity or to pass the time, but study such things as move your heart to devotion."

"How good a conscience would he keep if a man never sought after passing pleasures nor became preoccupied with worldly affairs!"

"The desires of the senses call you to roam abroad, but when their hour is spent, what do you bring back but a burdened conscience and a distracted heart? A cheerful going out often brings a sad homecoming, and a merry evening brings a sorry morning. For every bodily pleasure brings joy at first, but at length it bites and destroys."

"It is often better and safer not to have many comforts in this life, especially those of the body. Yet, if we seldom or never feel God’s comfort, the fault is our own; for we neither seek contrition of heart, nor entirely forego all vain and outward consolations."

"Consider yourself unworthy of God’s comfort, but rather deserving of much suffering. When a man is perfectly contrite, this present world becomes grievous and bitter to him. A good man always finds cause for grief and tears; for whether he considers himself or his neighbors, he knows that no man lives without trouble in this life. And the more strictly he examines himself, the more cause he finds for sorrow. Our sins and vices are grounds for rightful sorrow and contrition of heart; for they have so strong a hold on us that we are seldom able to contemplate heavenly things."

"For to eat and drink, to wake and sleep, to rest and labor, and to be subject to all the necessities of nature is a great trouble and affliction to the devout man, who would rather be released and set free from all sin." (This is especially intriguing to me, if you ever bring it up in conversation with me, I would be game)

"The inner life of man is greatly hindered in this life by the needs of the body. Thus, the prophet devoutly prays that he may be set free from them, saying, “Lord, deliver me from my necessities!”"

"You will never overcome your vices, unless you discipline yourself severely."

"Learn now to die to the world, that you may begin to live with Christ."

what I learned in school

If you combine Stalin's rule by terror methods with the UN's ideas of human rights, things would get done!

Let the line above sink in a little bit. For example, Human Rights began to win in the Holocaust only when Nazi's were overcome by the slaughter put on them by the Allies. Slavery in the south ended when the North declared war and oppressors started dying in war. In order for some oppressed people to gain rights, someone has to make the oppressors the victims. In my opinion, Humanitarian Intervention fails because it is not a just system. The oppressed can hardly be uplifted without punishing the oppressor.

This is not an argument for violence necessarily. It's an argument to show the world is not "just."

"Social Justice"

My spirit longs for you God,
How I long for you.

The mouths of men shout “injustice,”
while their possessions build walls
between the suffering and themselves.

Oh help me God!
Don’t let me be like them!

Their plans fill their minds
like coal-filled stockings.
They are consumed by self,
And ignore your love.

How long will you tolerate them, Lord?
When will your hand come down
and declare justice?

How many voices will cry your name?
How long will life here go on?
Thanks be to God,
it's but a mist!


Is it just for me to sit in class, while Bobby continues in addiction and homelessness, and kids like Bobby are hitting the street right now? IS IT JUST?

When did the value of a human life become relative? Why does it take thousands, tens of thousands, or more people to “ping” our consciences? Isn’t this knowledge enough: A child starved to death? One child is dead. If you were hungry and you knew that there were people who had extra food, and they ALSO had giant planes that flew around the world, AND they did just that on a regular basis, what would you expect they were doing with those planes? Probably not vacationing.

Furthermore, how many people do you think you would need starving around you, before you thought your life was worth saving?

That is the truest thing I’ve ever heard in this class: that Human rights are a creation of the west AKA the United States of America. They only apply to humans... sorry "aliens."

On Church and State

The coming together of Church and State was one of the greatest victories the devil ever accomplished (as if such a thing could even happen, the devil accomplishing that is). For it's easy to submit to all governing authority, whether it tax heavily or persecute the believer. Hoping in Christ can easily make those things like nothing. However, what happens when it is not only the state demanding of you, but the very church oppressing you? What happens when the "church" reeks of the most grotesque forms of evil? Is one to go on submitting to the devil's church? Father God, make your true and holy church known in this world of deception.

Psalm 31: for meditation (verses 1-7)

"for the sake of your name
lead and guide me."

Not for my own good, or so I suffer less, or so I am happy, or successful, or prosperous, but for the SAKE of your name. Not so I can be proud, or perform miracles, or teach men, but for the sake of YOUR name. Not so I can write books, or attain anything that will burn away in your holy fire, but for the sake of your NAME.

"Free me from the trap that is set for me"

There IS a trap set for me! I am not safe when I walk. I am not like a man who walks in the comfort of his home. I walk like a stranger. Traps and snares are set before me, and my eyes are blind to them. Free me Lord! The traps set before me are perilous. Free me, for I cannot free myself. Do not let me think that there is no trap set before me. Help me tread free from the trap set before me.

"redeem me, O Lord, the God of truth"

Redeem me, for I am in need of redemption! I am nothing without you, and only you can redeem me. Only the truth of your holiness, and my depravity, allows me to be redeemed by you. You are the perfect example I strive to be. God can redeem me, and God alone. God, only you can redeem me, for only you will know every sin of my heart. Only you will know the lowliness of this man; the depths to which I have stooped. Only you know the cost of redeeming your unworthy servant.

"I will be glad and rejoice in your love,
for you saw my affliction
and knew the anguish of my soul"

Oh Lord, how great is the anguish of my soul! I can rejoice because you have seen me, for I am at my worst, and you still chose me. My soul will anguish always, for it longs to be sanctified. How I long to reflect the holiness of my Creator. How I am afflicted by my flesh! My soul longs for a new body, that can praise you without sinning against you. Oh the anguish of being trapped still. But O Lord, The Bliss of rejoicing in your love. The great joy of knowing peace and at home my soul will be soon. Oh the shouts of rejoice at the news: I no longer stand condemned for my life, though it be deserving of nothing but death.

Dear God! Give me patience or COME QUICK

My spirit doesn’t rest anymore.
It hasn’t known of peace or sleep.
It hasn’t learned to rest in flesh.
My spirit burns to stand the test.

And in the haze I cry, My God,
I pray my flesh to be no more
I pray for everything to die
So my life might be rectified
And in the sorrow, I cry, HOLY—
Won’t you consume me fully?
Lord, I’ve got no peace in all my days,
So in my darkness, guide my way.

Oh Jesus Christ, sweet Jesus—
I haven’t known consistency,
I haven’t any truth in me,
but how you move and live and breathe.

So be my every waking moment,
and do not leave me when I sleep.
In all the earth I’ll proclaim GLORY,
Glory to the only King.

Take me away, far, far away,
I don’t desire anything,
but that you wipe me clean,
that you don’t leave anything in me
that might keep me from my King.

Runaway

I plunged off my mind and into the night sky.
The stars were sand beneath my feet, disguising
my footprints from the world. I bit into the pear moon.
There was no core.

FIRE

Fire

For too long my heart was a naked ember, out in the open,
clinging to a heat that was waning.

Perhaps just too hot to touch, searing to the flesh,
but with a poking stick: easy and safe to move,
perfectly suitable for a small box.

One ember: what is it but a reminder
of what once burned, and is now dying away?

I feel the Holy flames now, lapping against the walls of my chest.
The world is blurring in the heat, heavy with razor sharp orange,
as my planks of blindness are consumed by God's Holiness.
My fire climbs out, it surrounds me entirely, and it runs
through the harvest field of dormant embers—
lighting the world on fire for Christ!

Father, your glory birthed the sun!

6:11 AM

At night my eyelids force my focus in
to the depths of myself, thick curtains
preventing me from reflecting light.
In my coma of darkness, I lose all strength
of will, spirit, and truth. I am a victim,
unable to lift my hands in defense. I am naked.
It is my internal crucifixion.

Torment locates my terror nerve and does
its job. My spirit, trapped in my dormant skin,
trembles like a puddle-bound worm
in a thunderstorm— just drowning.
My anxiety violently writhes against the inside
of my dead body. Everything but my voice
cries out for God. No Sound.

In fear, I jolt awake, and still,
it’s dark. My chest, wrung tight,
and heart— still feeling fight. I wait—
for a ball of fire in the air
to conquer darkness with every ray of light,
to pave the steps that lead me out of night.
Ah, the song!
I hear and see the promises of dawn.

Father, your glory birthed the sun,
and to the horizon’s gift I’ll run.

Wrestling

As many of you know, I wrestled for a good chunk of my life. The piece below was a creative writing assignment for school. It tells a bit about the last tournament I ever wrestled in. Two weeks after this tournament, my wrestling career ended forever. Here is a glimpse into my mind at the height of my wrestling career, a little more than a year before I accepted Christ.
-----------------------------------

Whistles ram shackle the gymnasium, backed by thundering bleachers and bolts of flashes hailing down from the crowd. The stage intensifies as the wrestling tournament nears climax with every passing match. The Newark Academy wrestling tournament showcased twenty-one teams, (I know because I counted), nineteen of which had wrestlers weigh-in at 130 lbs., my weight-class.

I repeatedly thought of Rob Delores, and how I loathed his doofus grin. Rob Delores lived in my neighborhood. I swear that kid was smoking in the bathroom since the 2nd grade. On mischief night, Rob hung out with all the neighborhood punks. I watched them loiter on the street corner from my window. I hated Rob Delores. I hated every bus ride, every day, because of Rob Delores. I don’t remember a single insult (there were plenty), but I’ll never forget that dim-witted head bobbing over the back seat of the bus, laughing at himself. My anger imploded like a backwards grenade. Something evil filled my body at the slightest thought of Rob Delores. I dreamt of my knuckles crushing his nose, and feeling his warm blood quench my rage. My parents sensed a need for me to unleash my anger, and encouraged me to play sports.

Ten years passed and I was a senior at Morristown high school. I was eighteen years old, college bound, and a religious zealot ever since the third grade. My religion was wrestling. I meditated on every move, every nuance, and every moment of ten-years of discipline. My meditation would have shamed Buddhist monks. There was no wrestling season for me. Every season was a season for wrestling, every month a wrestling month, every day a wrestling day. My physical hunger was far out-weighed by my hunger for victory, for glory, to be the Pacific of oceans, the Jupiter of planets, to reign over the realm of wrestlers. I whispered to my wrestling god before every match, help me be the best.

Into the semi-finals, I did not care that it had taken me two six-minute matches to do away with my first two opponents. I failed to pin either of them, and had to gain both victories by points. I cared a little bit more that I could not turn my head left, and that spine shrieking pain—my head must have been internally detached, only held on by the skin of my neck. I told my coach. I might as well have told the gymnasium floor. His straight face did not even react to my plea for attention, or medical assistance, or a miracle from the wrestling gods. He wasn’t sure if I was healthy, but he knew I was wrestling. I knew that I was not healthy; however, I also knew that only my grave would cause me to drop out of the tournament, and the coffin lid had better be bolted shut to make it a sure thing. I was going to be the best, or die trying.

Adrenaline transcended everything physical, and brought me to my first gold medal in high school. My game was flawless. I embarrassed the two seed in the semis, and beat the top seed, state-ranked Dan Butcher, by a good margin of 9-2. I remember watching him squirm; his red flashes of brilliance wither under the strength of my will. I stripped him of his pride, his reason for living, and I cashed in at the awards ceremony.

I went home the best. My neck throbbing felt more like a victory massage from the medal and ribbon resting steady as my crown. I was a king in my world: able to demand my will and have it be done.

NO NAP

Dedicated to my friend Sam Slusser.. THIS IS FOR YOU SAM!! If you are not Sam, do not expect this to make any sense, you wouldn't understand...

No Nap

In the dark alley way of good and plenty
I walked slow like coal on the railway.
I opened wide to the white and purple sky
AND- No nap, Oh Snap! No nap...

Candy crane droppings on my parade,
hand stuck in the gutter, but I can't complain
cause it could be hailing kidney stones,
but instead I GOT MONEY IN THE RED ZONE!
No Nap, WHAT? No Nap
OHH SNAP YO...
NO NAP-

The over-arching clash of things

There is a lot going on in this poem, and I was unable to create a title I was satisfied with. However, it is kind of fun to hear what other people think, so please make title suggestions!


I fall asleep, a ladle into seas,
the heavy ‘tween dreams the steam
inspiring my delusions.

And all the building, twisted towers
mounting to gifts of the world’s elite:
recognition, wealth, and death.

But dreams are not but devastations
of all these worldly aspirations,
distracting my spirit from home.

So I’ve restated my claim to
amputate my Self from the mainland
reign, and to balance so unreasonably

on the vein of one leaf
at the highest tree’s peak, and risk
falling for flight.

Another Gorgeous Day

Isn't This The World We Live In?

Aren’t the evils and demons in the world like
flies: in the sweating sun, near the still pond,
and algae stained air smell buzzing?

And isn’t the God who loves the world like
Wind: exercising His sovereignty just breathing,
cleaning the air with every whoosh He wills?

Beauty

Can words even describe this weather? I know that weather.com is not doing it justice. Some days just transcend the abilities of the weathermen, the same way abstractions, such as beauty, cannot quite be captured by the poets. Well, the weathermen still attempt to talk weather, and apparently the poets still attempt to describe beauty.

Beauty

The twilight air seduced
my skin tight spirit, as my cares
befuddled at the red-orange red nectar
of my first ripe sunset.
I couldn’t help but whisper awe:
That’s my favorite color,
as the sky’s paramount beauty
prances my heart’s pant.

SPRINT

I was reborn a sprinter. Out of the gates running, I did not anticipate the first bend, and I smashed into the side pretty bad. I shook myself back up, and kept sprinting. I did not anticipate the bumps, roots, holes, and other obstacles. In full sprint, I took my eyes off the road and went thud into walls, face planted dirt, and taxed my body physically, spiritually, emotionally, and I kept sprinting. I did not really go the training wheels route, decked out with helmet, knee pads, and wrist guards. I chose the crotch-rocket blazing down the highway at 130 mph (never bothered learning whether or not the thing had breaks). I forgot to watch where I was going sometimes, but I never forgot where I was headed: all out toward Jesus.

So, you see, my lifestyle is dangerous, reckless, and quite painful really. Most certainly foolishness by many standards… I’m fine by that. No doubt when I crash, it is no fender bender— but I’m relying on God-strength, so why slow down?

By God’s great grace, I am still spiritually alive and fervent for Christ! Somehow, He has even improved my style of sprinting. It’s not that it’s safer; I’m still a blind man running in many ways. The difference is that very occasionally I’ll be listening enough to hear God whisper, there’s a hole, jump…Now! I still have to jump, and I never really see the hole. In fact, I only ever really see holes once I’ve already fallen into them. But perhaps that’s why I am able to listen now. And maybe, that’s why I’m willing to listen a bit harder. Because it is true, those crashes are brutal. It is no matter though, they are not slowing down my sprint. I will just listen really hard, and keep on keepin’ on. I am sprinting home!

Remember crucifying Christ?

A year ago I cried. I did not just cry, I wept, and I helplessly wailed for hours. I could not cope with the unfathomable amount of pain and suffering in the world (I will not list them, you will not have to look hard to discover there are too many). For about a week I was depressed. The tragedy of my state wasn't that I doubted in Jesus. I believed in my salvation, but too many people didn't have it, and their suffering seemed in vain. They did not know Jesus, and no matter what effort I put forth, I could not save the world. Then something happened. In my misery I saw Jesus, and He was crying too. He was suffering, bearing the pain caused by every sin. I remembered that I too was a sinner, and that I contributed to the suffering of Jesus. I was just another sinner standing in the crowd mocking Him up on the cross—and yet, He still loved me, He still saved me.


I Scorned

My soul hides in my wincing guts
from the hourglass of the heartbeat.
My eyes taunt His defeated droop
like the caw of a black crow.
My wrists tingle at the—
tedious teething of my abuse
leading Him to the cross.
Hail the King of the Jews, I said,
and I spit on Him.

The Son mourns
weeping willows into the ground,
and bleeds the soaking bank into form,
and offers refuge.
And the torrent of tormenting death drains,
deaf to the cry of God’s plea.

In His forsaken thirst
He breathed His last.

Claret

Hey guys. So this poem is rather deep. I hope it provokes some thought. I realize that it's not quite a feel good poem, but somehow, in this broken world, it is.

Claret

The words I wish I had spoken, and the glassy
bay I frequently create in hindsight
will never be. I cannot replace
what is true: the slack-tide of my spirit
siphoning into stagnant pools
somewhere—more like everywhere.

The salivation
of Bleakness drips down on everything, smearing
from memory the vibrancy of life. My tears,
the blood of my soul, hit the ground uncaught.
They die, pearls thrown to pigs, or perhaps
just pigs thrown into the sea.

Who’s throwing anyways? Looks like Jesus
or demons again. Someone who called me Legion
or Peter or both. Imagine what he felt: holy blood,
clogging up those worldly veins.
It’s a wonder that the love of a father
or God would place such a pure spirit in wretch’s skin.
We sealed it alright—nailed him to our death.

Homesick

Sometimes I get homesick.

I cannot forget that I am a stranger, an alien in this world. Even Christian relationships cannot measure up to how things should be. We have so many expectations for each other in our brokenness. We box people in with our preconceptions, and we have set limits on the grace we are willing to give. Why do we trap ourselves and each other? Have we forgotten our first Love? Think of Christ, the one worthy example. He had grace enough to forgive the sins of the world. How can we hold anything against each other? Where is the overflow of the spirit, the unconditional—UNCONDITIONAL Love? That is, Love that does not take into account circumstance or situation or person, Love that cannot count faults or shortcomings or failures. It is Love that is literally OUT OF THIS WORLD. It’s the Love of the Kingdom of God. We need to do away with all our expectations for this world, and for the things in this world. Nothing here can satisfy us. Everything here will fall short.

Our citizenship is in heaven! We DO NOT have an enduring city here, but we are looking for the city that is to come! Every time disappointment hits us, we need to remember that we are strangers. We need to strive for the love that is out of this world. Worldly love’s got nothing on that Kingdom love. Don’t let our spirits droop because we sometimes feel homesick. Let us rejoice and overflow, because our home is that good!

Starving Sin to Death! Now THAT'S What I'm Talking About!

Christ Starved Sin to Death

I force the sleep to sit down,
it’s always begging me— and I’m tired
of listening to my body.
The sun will be up soon
anyways; my mind is quite far from rest
these days.

The contradiction of rage hides
inside of my temple: the sin caving in on the Spirit’s
full sprint. But my flesh has me trapped,
it laughs at my poverty: my limp,
passive will, and the bondage of my uncertainty. Flesh,
you might reap from my shortcomings now—
but don’t forget

how Jesus Christ starved you out.
Jesus Christ starved you out—And somehow,
Jesus Christ is carving you out
of me.

And that’s for eternity.

James Harper! This is your first challenge: here are your lyrics (sorry, not really a worship styled song)

(Any Title suggestions?)

I walked into my house
and the couches were empty,
leather recliners left back
next to a stale cup of coffee.
My dinner table wasn’t full,
and the food was more than plenty.
I washed a few noodles down the drain.

Maybe they’ll travel through the pipes
and leak out onto the street.
Maybe someone will eat there
with my waste at their feet.
And maybe I need not worry
about the world—broken down around me.

Oh Lord, I see it now.
Won’t you change me somehow?
Help me find that someone
and serve them in my house.
I’ll give them my favorite seat
on your recliner leather couch.
I’ll prepare them a feast
instead of my neglected leftovers.

And if even one noodle remains—
help me bring home more of the poor.

One Line

"Each day a child under the age of seven is abandoned in Moldova."

Oh, Great Love!

I’ve contemplated bitterly long the task of mustering something of nothing. All along I have known that I am something. Even if it be true that I am something terrible, or something miniscule in comparison to something else, I assuredly am something. Who can deny it? The very thought that I am something proves, at the very least, that I am something other than nothing. In speculation, I also had to accept that I was something that came from something else. This undeniable truth is repeated throughout nature. No matter where you look, you will see something coming from something else, but nowhere will you see something of nothing.

I’ve been aware of this mystery ever since I was young. I knew that it must be possible for something to come out of nothing, or else something would never be. The world would be nothing, and if this was true, the world simply could not be. I tested my theory by trying to make something out of nothing. I flexed my eyes and strained my brain. With incredible focus, with all might and concentration, I spent my mind entirely on the hope of making something out of nothing. Alas! My effort was in vain, something of nothing never came.

Oh, Great Love!

The voice of a Spirit,
the strength with no frame,
is the power that made
what cannot be contained.
And the voice, the strength,
and the power displayed, entirely aware
of the risk and the pain,
is the working hand of Great Love.

Great Love made the bed
of celestial heights,
full of stars extending
beyond endless sight.

Great Love shaped the earth,
and so lavished it lush,
in the depth of each leaf,
in the water’s sweet rush.

Great Love sowed the breath
all His creatures reap
in the air of the sky
and the leagues of the deep.

From the heart of the worm
to the creation of man,
to the depths of a Soul— Oh, Great Love!
From nothing, you’ve made Love,
Love with no end.

God's will or Our will?

Christians will agree that God is good. However, I think if you asked a bunch of Christians why God is good, you would get varying answers, especially if you were looking for some sort of justification. Forget the answers though, let’s look at the questions we all have. If God, our creator, is good, doesn’t he want us to be a part of his goodness? Can we really be a part of God’s goodness if we deny everything about ourselves? Jesus made it pretty clear that we have to lose our lives to save them, but why? Is every desire and longing of ours evil? This cannot possibly be true if God is good, for wasn’t it our very selves that longed for God, and still longs for Him now? Perhaps it is our spirit that longs for God, but if this is the case, then how can we follow God? How can we separate the longings of our flesh from the longings of our God given spirit?

This dilemma complicates itself further when we drag in the topic of pleasure, or to use a less suggestive word, enjoyment. If God is good, he most definitely is the creator of our own positive experiences, feelings, and relationships in the world. To suggest that pleasure (or enjoyment) is evil is to slap God in the face! Can we really deny ourselves and all our desires without denying God Himself? At some point, isn’t denying oneself equivalent to denying the desire to do God’s will? God promises great joy in following His will, but surely this does not translate to mean that everything that is joyful or feels good to experience is automatically a part of His will.

I suppose we can quite easily remedy this problem by simply denying every part of ourselves unless we have full confidence that we are aligned with God’s will. But then what do we do when God has made no clear revelation of His will regarding any particular topic? Are we free to do anything so long as it doesn’t prevent or hinder us from doing the bit of God’s will that he has made known?

I think I have found my peace, though I imagine the reader will be lost by this jump, but I am really writing for myself. Incredibly, God has instilled in me (and I believe in you as well) an answer that satisfies the struggle that I have been trying to develop in these past few paragraphs. The truth is this: God has let some part of His will be known to us! No matter how small or broad, God has put opportunities before us to work for Him. When we are responsible in pursuing and following what He has put before us, he will give us more responsibility, more direction, and more revelation.

We seem to have a tendency to want to know ALL of God’s plans for our lives before we carry out the ones he has clearly placed before us. Why? Probably because we still have our OWN plans in mind, and we’re hoping they match the plans God has chosen not to reveal to us.

The devil knows how to use our own desires against us quite well. He knows that if we are committed to pursuing God’s will, he needs to deceive us into thinking our selfish desires are a part of God’s will. He knows he needs to confuse us, disorient us from our certainty in following God, and get us doubting the plans that God has chosen to NOT FULLY reveal to us. The devil knows that he has to get us justifying our own desires as being “not outside” the will of God. He is quite the deceiver, and has proved beyond capable of such deceptive acts.

Is this really an answer to the tension that exists between our will and the will of God? Partially. The ambiguity still exists. It is still hard to trust God’s plans when we can much more easily create our own and see the end they come to. Perhaps denying ourselves (beyond denying the obvious sins) is no more than denying ourselves the right to decide what will become of our lives. This is different than denying our every desire. Rather, it is putting our desires into God’s hands, and letting Him DO WHAT HE WILLS with them, always trusting that his judgment on such matters is much better than our own, and his power to make things happen is much stronger than our own. We do not need to be the initiators in these difficult situations: when God’s will is unclear. We can let God be the initiator, always trusting Him for the best.

Listen to Him, be patient, don't force things. God won't leave you hanging. If you don't trust me on this one, Trust Him.

Conclusion: to obey is better than sacrifice. Complete denial of self is not what God created us for. He created us to experience relationship with Him. In this fallen world, that means reversing the first sin, and trusting God over ourselves for what’s best. When we do this, we can recognize every good thing as God given, we can see hope in every hardship, and we can rejoice in all situations, for we are fulfilling the very purpose we have been created for: to be in relationship with God.

Rain is Deep

The bodies fall like drops of rain. We’ll block the pelts with an umbrella, sometimes covering the head of a neighbor or friend, but not very concerned about stopping the drops from falling. Of course, it is a ridiculous thing to strive for, that is, saving drops of rain from falling from the sky. There are so many, and no amount of effort would ever suffice. And really, what is the point?

Isn’t it the same with people then? There are countless falling, most of whom go unseen by little old me. Even when I hold out my hands, they slide around my palms, hang from my knuckles— grow heavy, and drip off to the ground.

And there is something very soothing about sitting beneath the tree and staying dry, knowing I am safe as the members of the sky splatter the ground. There is an awful bunch of life in one drop though. Have you ever seen the rock-bottom force, how the collision annihilates
every
single
drop?

I imagine there are some who have opted not to stay dry. The drops will soak into their clothes, their hair, and even the pores of their skin, and wonder who sent their savior.

And they say that if you run you hit more drops.

What do YOU desire?

Desire

I am a man of desire—And in my pursuit I grew thirst. 
My eyes poured over a water bottle 
shackled by ice. 
The vessel’s glisten was quite chilling, 
and my sand-swept tongue hardly found 
relief 
from the alternative: metal fountain dribble. My $2 
exchanged for 16 fluid ounces made my 
piece complete.

   (A girl and her limp child drink something brown
   for another year).

I am a man of desire—And how I desire! 
For the angels to dust the ground beneath her 
every step. 
She is a beauty even among angels. To dwell 
long in her gaze is more euphoric than the sun’s warmth, 
deep orange 
just before it sets. She sets my senses 
ablaze.

   (A 12 year-old girl is boared by a frenzy of sagging skin
   and heavy bone. Occasionally they call her beautiful).

I am a man of desire—And I replay in my mind
the ecstasy of competition. The bang of my heart,
a wrecking ball to bricks. 
To be exalted—Champion! Adrenaline
ruptures through my being, the crowd a resounding 
gunshot.  

   (A boy soldier replays the muffled wail of his mother
   and sisters, and pummels the leech of his memory with
   gunshots).
 
I am a man of desire—And I desire for my
desire to die,
lest it be the desire of Christ. Fill me,
desire of Christ—

   “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, 
       because he has anointed me
       to preach good news to the poor.
    He has sent me to proclaim freedom
     for the prisoners
       and recovery of sight for the blind,
    to release the oppressed,
       to proclaim the year of the Lord’s
     favor.”

An Unfinished Poem

The moonlight, with great might,
casts his reins upon the sea.
When he lets, the waters rest,
and when he tugs they rise;
again his wrist recoils,
and so he tames the tide.

Falling somewhere

Drowsiness stalks me late into the night. I hear his sly moves under shadows. I sense his eyes gorging on me long through the evening, preparing to leech on me yet again. I’ve set traps, barricades, and even resorted to my own elusiveness, but never have I escaped. His style is eloquent: always detectable, yet never preventable. His tactics: unsophisticated, yet impossible to emulate. He bides his time, never slacking interest, never bored by his detestable game.

I’ve fought valiantly, both in armies and alone. Sometimes I surrender, other times a brutal fatality defeats me. What kind of curse do I carry around every day, waking up with complete certainty that I will fall again? The pattern of the world is such: to rise only to fall again. However, I believe a day will come, and has already come, that one will fall to rise again. The dawn will be the beginning and the end, and my stalker will die eternally!

Ramblings of another world...

Implosive bubbling of spiritual fervor persists in my bowels. Oh how standing in place writhes my soul! Why I torture myself regularly in my inactivity, makes no worldly sense. Of course, I have known for many years that the sense of the world is simply rubbish agreed upon by men, men with enough pride to be heard. No surprise does it come to me that I defy the world in my very nature! Of course, I suspect that many do, but are only afraid to admit to themselves that they too are not of this world.

“Not of this world— HA! That is the most preposterous claim ever to be uttered by an almost educated man.” I know your thoughts, for you have been claimed by this world already. Begin to die and you will find yourself open to any explanation out of this world. For the desires of your body will consume you. Chase them all day long! But when you near the long sleep, you will start to wonder, “Have I been duped?” For how can a life spent on desire upon desire upon desire, yield no fulfillment? You will ask yourself, “Shouldn’t I feel satisfied by the rich life that I lived?” You will begin to blame the desires you failed to meet. You will remember all of the times you chose decency over your greatest urges. Torn between pleasing the world and pleasing yourself?

No! Another lie has seeped into your heart. Every act to please the world you’ve done in hope of reaping reward. In hope of recognition you always acted. You have been deceived by your eyes, which you have spent your life casting on guilty pleasures. You have been deceived by your body, which has controlled you as much as you were willing to allow. But wait!—what kind of sense are you considering here? Allowing your body to control you? Have you just begun to believe that you have, at times, found yourself in disagreement with your very body? Alas! You can also acknowledge something without sense! Certainly no science could have brought you to this, but your own experience has made it undeniably true!

Have you too desired what you would not allow yourself to have? Even with complete peace that no harm to your future will result, even with full assurance that no other man might know, a force compels you to act against the body that grips you. We cannot explain this discrepancy between body and self with any worldly sense. It cannot be the cause of bacteria, or pathogens warring inside of us. This discrepancy is of an entirely new category of warfare. It has transcended science completely, and in doing so, has transcended the sense of this world!

How many excuses of self-denial exist? Can we forever deny what exists inside of our very selves because science cannot accept what it cannot explain? We cannot, not forever. A long sleep awaits us, and when it is near, we will begin to recognize that a part of us was not made to die. We will begin to recognize that a part of us was not made for this world. Not this broken world.

Sex trafficking

Over 2 million children every year

My hope was a flame,
fragile and prized.
My own treasure kept
from his cold-weathered eyes.
But now the wind breaks me
he takes all my worth,
he drinks my displeasure
with unquenchable thirst.

Disheveled I’m left, day after day.
The wind breaks me
and folds me unthinkable ways.
He steals all my clothes,
he wrestles me down, down
to depths of a dark underground.

My hopeful flame slipped
between hard hitting rain,
but the wind with his might
sought the light of my flame.
His heavy blows blustered and blistered
and drained
all the hope
out of me and my flame. Then he abused me again,
the wind and his rain.

http://www.globalpost.com/dispatch/worldview/091203/moldova-sex-trafficking

Chinese New Years (it's coming up? maybe?)

Chinese New Years has always been a disappointment. We all know dragons are mystical beasts built of steel plated scales, powerful reptilian wings, and fire emission capabilities. A festively painted costume, lacking wings, legged like a centipede, and stumbling through a jovial crowd, does nothing but destroy the dragon’s true identity. I’m glad God did not come down as a dragon and ask us to become like Him.